50 Starting Points
by tromana
Summary: Jane/Lisbon oneshot collection. 50 titles from the Paint It Red forum, 50 oneshots. New: Domino: In the end, everything falls.
1. Gunning Down Romance

******A/N: **I'm back with a new collection of 50 oneshots. Hooray? 50 Starting Points is slightly different to my previous 50 collections. Instead of being supplied with 50 prompts, I've got 50 fic titles to use. Fun? I hope so.

Also, somewhat appropriately, 50 Starting Points marks my 150th individual story and/or collection on this site.

But enough waffling. Let's get on with the first one...

x tromana

* * *

******Title:** Gunning Down Romance**  
****Author:** tromana**  
****Rating: **T******  
Summary:** _"I don't love Patrick Jane."_ Lisbon takes her deniability to extremes.**  
****Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon**  
****Notes:** No warnings, no spoilers. Just a silly little oneshot.**  
**

**Gunning Down Romance**_  
_

_Cho_

"I don't love Patrick Jane," she said firmly but Cho merely crossed his arms and looked back at her skeptically.

This conversation was bizarre to the extreme and not one she expected herself to be having with Kimball Cho of all people. Though they were friends - good friends even - and she implicitly trusted his opinion, Lisbon still found herself feeling incredibly uncomfortable. After all, talks about relationships and love were not something she generally shared with Cho. Their relationship, for the most part, remained strictly professional and that was what she liked about him.

Good old unflappable Cho, her second in command and reliable coworker. He knew exactly what to say and when. It was only in very rare circumstances that he ever let her down. And he always knew precisely which boundaries not to cross, and didn't dare to pressurize her into making decisions she didn't want to make.

However, that didn't mean he was perfect. He still made mistakes. And that was precisely what had led to this incredibly awkward situation they found themselves in.

He'd admitted he was worried about her. Specifically, he was worried about her relationship with Jane and where it could end up leading her. Things had simply escalated from there, and eventually he'd insinuated that their relationship was developing into something that it probably shouldn't have.

But he had nothing to worry about. Of course, like with the rest of the team, she was friends with Jane. That was it, nothing more, and nothing less. Naturally, even she could admit that she was marginally closer to Jane than the others. However, that was because she was naturally inclined to spend more time with him and he often forced himself to spend time with her, too. It was also due to her natural concern for him. The fact he was deeply embroiled in a quest for revenge meant she was equally conscious about her own quest to save him from himself.

There was nothing more to their relationship than that.

"I didn't say you did, boss," Cho said.

"You insinuated it."

Cho just stared her down and Lisbon sighed.

"We're friends, Cho. Nothing more, nothing less."

"You're closer to him than the rest of us."

"Because I spend more time with him," she explained, but she had a feeling the words were dying on deaf ears.

"Just be careful."

"You have nothing to worry about," she assured him before promptly changing the subject.

She'd had more than enough of this insanity to last a lifetime.

_Van Pelt_

Alcohol loosened the tongue, Lisbon knew that. Generally, it was why she avoided drinking with her co-workers. She always feared saying the wrong thing to them at the wrong time, and landing herself in all sorts of a mess. Of course, due to her prior experiences with alcohol in her family, she was generally careful with the stuff anyway. However, that was never enough to totally rid herself of the deep-rooted fear.

But she had invited Grace Van Pelt out for an ulterior motive. Recently, Van Pelt had been hiding herself away again. A recent case which had nearly cost them both their lives had left her traumatized. Although Van Pelt had been required to visit the CBI's resident psychiatrist – it was mandatory in any cases involving a shooting – Lisbon was still concerned. She suspected that the whole situation was reminding her O'Laughlin, a time that none of them would have liked to return to.

That was why she had invited her out.

Partially, it was to hopefully talk the situation out. Either that or it would serve as an ideal distraction. That was something that Lisbon felt like they both needed at this moment in time.

Unfortunately, it was only a matter of time before the conversation subjects grew a little out of hand.

It all started innocently enough. Lisbon herself had brought up the subjects of romance and love lives. She was aware that her junior agent was a beautiful young woman and she could easily have made anyone happy. However, since O'Laughlin, she hadn't even heard of her making a pass at another man, never mind anything more. Just because she had appeared well-adjusted (until this very recent episode) on the surface, it didn't mean she actually was.

Patrick Jane was a prime example of that.

Eventually, when Van Pelt had gotten bored of the questions, it was hardly a surprise that she turned the tables on her boss. Except, that was the last thing that Lisbon had actually expected, of course. She cursed the alcohol and promptly decided it was that was at fault.

"But boss," Van Pelt insisted, "if you believe there must be someone out there for me, the same must apply to you."

Lisbon snorted derisively. She had long since given up on the concept of deep and meaningful relationships. She was too much of a martyr to her work, for a start.

"Or…" she continued when Lisbon didn't answer. "You've already met him. He's not ready yet. Jane?"

"Now you're just being ridiculous, Grace. I don't love Patrick Jane."

_Rigsby_

"And before you get any further, no I_ don't _love Patrick Jane," Lisbon seethed.

Rigsby stood in her office, looking gangly and awkward, just as he often did. If she'd been in a far better mood, then Lisbon would have been amused by the sight. Instead, she was simply frustrated. She had expected Rigsby to come into her office with news on one of their cases, not to bother her about something which was little more than gossip. And Teresa Lisbon really hated gossip, especially when she was the subject of it.

She knew that gossip wasn't something that could necessarily be avoided, though. Generally, she just chose not to partake in it and ignore it. It was far easier on her sanity that way. After all, she was here to do a job and if the others wanted to speak behind others' backs, then that was their choice. But this time, Rigsby had chosen to bring the gossip to her and she knew it couldn't be avoided.

"I didn't say, uh. What I mean is-" he stuttered.

"Rigsby," she said coolly.

"Yes, boss?"

"You're not helping yourself here."

"I know. It's just people are talking and I thought you needed to know. It's not fair on you."

There was no way of denying that Wayne Rigsby had a heart of gold. She had long since asserted that her team was her family and she could see that this was his way of sticking up for his family. He wanted her to know what was going on because it involved her. Unlike Jane himself who chose to keep her in the dark on such matters because 'deniability was her best friend'. However, this was something she would have much preferred to remain (comparatively) oblivious to. She knew that people talked about her relationship with Jane; she'd have been foolish to think otherwise. But the details about it, that was something she hadn't needed to know about.

"Have you told Jane any of this?" she asked, intrigued.

"He probably already knew," Rigsby admitted.

"Or if not, he probably started it himself."

"Well, neither of you help the situation."

"Wayne Rigsby, are you implying that I behave inappropriately with my consultant."

"I didn't mean it like that. It's just you're very close and you…"

He stopped again, and Lisbon was relieved. Despite her warnings about him digging himself into a hole, he had continued to do so.

"I'm his boss; it's my job to care," she replied coolly. "And even if I wasn't, I'm his _friend_. We all know how much he needs those."

"Yes, boss, sorry, boss," Rigsby replied meekly.

_Herself_

After an evening shower, to relax her aching muscles and soothe her addled mind, Lisbon found herself staring at her reflection in the mirror. Over the past couple of weeks, the team had been planting seeds in her head and she didn't like it much.

"I do not love Patrick Jane," she told herself firmly.

She shook her head and began to towel dry her hair. A few seconds later, she paused, looked herself in the mirror again, square in the eyes.

"I do _not_ love Patrick Jane," she repeated.

Jane had always told her that she was hopeless at lying. She had always scoffed at the claims. There were still things that he didn't know about her. And she had lied to him on occasion, and he had believed them. Or at least, she had thought he had believed them. You could never be sure when it came to Patrick Jane.

"I _don't_."

She couldn't even convince herself that that was the honest truth.


	2. Undiscovered

******A/N: **With thanks to: leah, Hayseed Socrates, Lothlorien Aeterna, Olfactory-Ventriloquism, Sue Shay, MerriWyllow, AprilVV, HeartSentence and Frogster for reviewing _Gunning Down Romance_.******  
**

x tromana

* * *

******Title:** Undiscovered**  
****Author:** tromana**  
****Rating: **T******  
Summary:** His senses may have been heightened, but it doesn't mean that he can suddenly acquire new skills. Missing scene from 1x16 Bloodshot.  
**Characters/Pairings: **Jane/Lisbon**  
****Notes:** Written for the Paint It Red January 2013 Monthly Challenge. Prompt: Letters.**  
**

**Undiscovered  
**

"Jane, what are you doing?"

"Oh Lisbon, I thought I heard you coming," Jane spoke lightly and he smiled. "And please stop looking so sorry for me. It's not so bad once you get used to it."

Lisbon frowned; she really couldn't get used to this new, blind, Patrick Jane. There was something so disconcerting about him missing one of his five senses. It didn't help in the slightest that it seemed like he was literally psychic now instead of just faking it, like he usually claimed. But then, she did like to try and keep an open mind; just because Jane wasn't a psychic, it didn't mean that nobody else could possibly be. It was hard not to let the jaded cynicism take over sometimes, especially when she considered just how long she had been in this job now. The things she saw on a day to day basis were enough to wear anybody down.

But then, when it came to Jane's current issue, he had already claimed that his other senses - smell, specifically - had become heightened since his sight deprivation. She didn't much like the idea of him _smelling_her presence, nor of him being able to tell what type of anger somebody was exuding based on the scent. It just seemed a little nonsensical to her. Briefly, she wondered if his senses really were heightened or if he was just saying that in order to make himself sound a little less weird to her. If the latter was the truth, then it was a lost cause. She had already decided he was the oddest man she had ever met within a month of meeting him for the very first time.

However, that was all beside the point. It didn't explain exactly what he was doing at that moment in time.

For the first time in a very long while, he was sitting at the desk they had supplied for him. That, in itself, was an unusual sight. Jane never used his desk; he always preferred to lounge on his couch as if this were his home. His slender white pole was leaning up against the desk, and the sunglasses still covered up his eye patches – or at least, partially. On top of the desk was a book which appeared to be entirely filled with blank pages. She took another look as she took another step closer; they weren't blank. Instead, there were hundreds and if not, thousands of tiny indentations marking it.

It was a Braille book.

"I'm reading; what did you think I was doing?" he asked.

For the first time since his accident, he sounded quite nonchalant, almost like he was coming to terms with his plight. A pang of guilt rushed through her. She should have persuaded him to get the hell away from that van sooner, well before it had blown up. Then, he wouldn't have been forcing himself to learn Braille. He would have been fine.

"Stop feeling guilty, Teresa. You've done nothing wrong."

"I don't feel guilty," she answered defensively, lying smoothly or so she thought.

"I've gone blind; my hearing remains superb," he answered back. "I can tell by the tone of your voice that you're lying."

Of course he could; she should have known that. But then, she knew she could be forgiven for that. He'd sent her nerves into overdrive since he had witnessed that explosion and been blinded by it. The man was in her care; she felt entirely responsible for him. And that included when he had accidents which she felt like she could have prevented.

"Funny, your hearing often seems to be at fault when I try and give you a direct order."

"A little bit of a low blow don't you think?" he questioned and she shrugged her shoulders. "But fair. You couldn't have gotten me away from that van any sooner than you did. Not when..."

He trailed off but he didn't need to finish off the sentence for her to be able to fill in the blanks. She knew exactly what he was thinking. A man had died because of him. James Medina had been killed as a warning sign, to say that he would be next. And yet, that very same device that had killed Medina had nearly cost him his own life too. And that was because he had been too bull-headed to listen to her straight away. Lisbon took a deep breath. He was fine and they were going to work out who did this, before it cost any more lives. They just had to, before it got too far underneath Jane's skin.

"What are you reading?" she asked before the silence got too uncomfortable.

"I'm not exactly sure," he admitted in an uncharacteristic sign of weakness. "I asked Cho to borrow any Braille books the library had; I like a surprise."

"And how can you not be sure?"

"This is the first Braille book I've read, my dear Lisbon. Contrary to popular belief, I'm not Superman. I can't do absolutely everything."

"I never said you were," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm the blind one. It's my job to be mean," he said, sticking his bottom lip out petulantly.

"So you asked Cho to get you a book of Braille despite not actually being able to read it?"

"Thought I'd be able to work out which letter and symbol is which. But it's more difficult than it... Uh, feels."

Lisbon couldn't help but laugh. She was relieved when Jane took it with relatively good humor, but she couldn't help but find it funny. It was also amusing for her to witness Jane finding something difficult. Usually, he made _everything_look so easy, so it was always a relief to discover something which was missing from his wide repertoire.

"I'll learn," he continued when her laughing fit was over. "I'm going to have to if I want to keep on being able to read books."

"Jane, you don't need to," she said softly. Lisbon reached out to touch him tentatively but he pulled away before she even had the opportunity to do so. "The doctor said you would recover soon."

"There's still a chance..."

"You will be fine," she said firmly. "I've gotta get on now. Work to do, criminals to arrest. You know what it's like."

"Lisbon..." Jane started as she went to leave.

She turned on her heels to take a look at him. His hands were resting on the books pages as if he hoped the information would miraculously transport itself from his fingertips to his brain. Then, there were the sunglasses and his pole too; it just finished the picture of desolation, really. The sooner he regained his sight, the better. It would make everything so much easier on all of them.

"There is something I can still cope with despite the blindness..."

"What?" she questioned dubiously.

"Drinking tea."

"Didn't Rigsby just make you one?"

"Yeah, but he doesn't make them like you do."

Instinctively, she rolled her eyes. She knew he was just trying to guilt-trip her into making him another cup of tea. Worse, seeing him sitting there and looking so pitiful meant that it was working. How could she say no to him when he looked like that?

"Fine," she said with a sigh.

Yes, he had to get better soon. She couldn't handle him being like this for much longer. And she knew that the same applied to the others too...


	3. Overload

******A/N: **It's been forever since I last managed an update for this collection, but that's because I'm finishing up what will be a 100,000 word story by the time it's finished. (It's currently 95k and about 5-6 chapters to go). So yes, I'll get back to these (and Word Play) when that is done.

Thank you to: sorchauna, Guest, Olfactory-Ventriloquism, Lalalupin, Hayseed Socrates, Lothiriel84 and Miss Peg for reviewing _Undiscovered._

Also, the Paint It Red Awards 2013 are looking for fic and art nominations for this year's awards. Please consider leaving some nominations for your favourite fics and artwork. It would mean the world to me! There's a link to the forum in my profile page.

**WARNING: SPOILERS FOR 5x16 THERE WILL BE BLOOD. READ ON AT YOUR OWN CAUTION.**

Now that's out of the way...

x tromana

* * *

******Title:** Overload**  
****Author:** tromana**  
****Rating: **T******  
Summary:** Lisbon reacts to the news. Episode tag/missing scene for 5x16 There Will Be Blood  
**Characters/Pairings: **Jane/Lisbon**,** implied Jane/Lorelei**  
****Notes:** This was meant to be a drabble. Um. Written for the Paint It Red March 2013 Monthly Challenge.**  
**

**Overload**

She feels uneasy.

Objectively, she cannot feel completely sorry for Lorelei's demise. The woman was a ruthless murderer who dealt with a dangerous serial killer. Lorelei Martins had tortured and killed several people; her last victim remains in a critical condition in hospital at this very moment. And that's only the ones they currently know about. And almost more importantly from Lisbon's perception, the crazed psychopath had dug her claws into Jane and refused to let go. And the further Jane headed down that route (and the further away he got from _her_), the more scared she had become.

Lisbon cares deeply about Jane. She's the one who has picked together his pieces and tried to put him back together again. If it weren't for her, Jane wouldn't have been under the care of the CBI at all. He's her partner and it's only natural, or so she tells herself. There are aspects of their relationship that she refuses to even admit that to herself, but she's already gotten a long way without acknowledging it. Besides she knows it's safer that way, for the both of them. If they get in too deep, then the inevitable will happen. Lisbon suspects that Red John barely stands for their relationship as it is right now, so if anything more were to happen, it would be suicidal on her part.

And that's what everything always comes down to: Red John.

Lorelei Martins' life could easily have been so different. If her sister hadn't died, if she hadn't had a sister at all, then Red John would have had nothing to manipulate. She would have been able to live her life as she chose. Having been inflicted with a god awful mother would not have been enough for Red John to persuade a strong-willed woman like Lorelei to come onside. From personal experience, Lisbon knows what it's like to come from a broken childhood and a broken home. She understands how it feels to suffer from unfettered loathing for a parent due to their behavior. She can see how personal hurt, hardship and above all, tragedy, can change anyone, regardless of their background.

She's been there. She's done all that.

She's come out of the other end a stronger person.

Better? That's debatable. It's impossible to know what could have happened if something hadn't. You only get the opportunity to live life once.

Besides, she's made mistakes. Often, it's in the mishandling of Patrick Jane and relatively minor in the greater scheme of things. Sometimes, it's resulted in the ultimate price for somebody. And Lisbon cannot help but wonder if the dark and lonely path that Jane finds himself on is her fault. Initially, she had been reluctant to allow him to be part of her unit at all. She'd only humored Minelli because he had forced her hand. If she'd been more resolute, Jane would never have had access to the CBI files on Red John and he would have been forced to grieve for his wife and daughter properly. He would never have been thrust down this path for a fruitless quest for revenge.

But, knowing Jane as well as she does, he would have found a way around it anyway. Instead of manipulating the CBI, he would have gone vigilante and chosen a life of crime instead. It's probably safer for her to have him here, on the inside. That, at least, is another little lie she tells herself, if only to make her feel better about it all. She can't know otherwise, because this is the path she has ultimately chosen for the both of them.

And that is another reason why she regrets the murder of Lorelei Martins.

She should have known, like Jane, she would be consumed with a quest for revenge once she truly knew either way that Red John was responsible for her sister's death. After all, if Jane is to be believed, Red John's girl had known she was in too deep _without _that knowledge. But, Lisbon also believes that Jane should have known that she would never give up Red John's name when Lorelei thought she could deal with the killer herself, but that point is moot. He's in too far as well.

He needed to believe that Lorelei would be manipulated for his needs in the way that Red John had manipulated her for his. She had provided him with a direct link to the serial killer and a shred of hope that one day, all this might just be over.

Somewhere along the line, Jane had also developed feelings for Lorelei Martins. It didn't matter that she had been Red John's girl; he'd still fallen.

That's something else that Lisbon can empathize with entirely.

Briefly, she rests her head against the cool surface of her desk. She's thinking too hard, by all accounts. It's hardly surprising, given the circumstances. The phone call about Lorelei's murder came in exactly seven minutes and thirty-two seconds ago. Lisbon had put the phone back down five minutes and three seconds ago. Since then, she hasn't moved a muscle. She's been paralyzed by fear over what and how Jane might react next.

A part of her fears that this might just be the news that'll break him.

They may have Jason Lennon, but even if he does survive Lorelei's brutal attack, it's just not the same. For a start, he's not even their suspect. He belongs to Homeland Security now, even if she is trying to argue the case. But even if she does somehow succeed, there's no emotional bond between Jane and Lennon for Jane to use and abuse. There's no telling if they will ever be able to get a name from him. Besides, he's still in a coma, one the doctors just cannot risk taking him out of. From the wounds he sustained, he wasn't meant to live and Lorelei might still end up with another death to her name posthumously. Lorelei had wanted Red John to end with her and her alone. She wanted to get away, to stop Jane from following her and kill the serial killer for what he'd done to her sister. The only problem was, she had ended up grossly underestimating either him or herself.

In some twisted way, she had a shared goal with Lisbon, or so she thinks… almost hopes. Neither one of them had wanted Jane to lose his soul to Red John.

There's still every chance that that might happen.

Swallowing deeply, she stands. She needs to break the news to Jane; she can't just stay here forever. Somehow, Lisbon knows she needs to find the right words to soften the blow. God only knows how, though.

With each step heavy on her heart, she makes her way up to his dingy attic space.

There's no point in delaying the inevitable any longer.


	4. Stand Alone

**A/N:** Okay, so it's taking me forever to get back into oneshots. I'm sorry!

With thanks to: TwilightSagamaniac, WeBuiltThePyramids, Lothiriel84 and Miss Peg for reviewing _Overload_.

And this time, I'm going to bring up the fact that the Paint It Red Awards are now in the voting phase. It would mean a lot to me if you could pop over there and vote. If you're not already a member, it takes just a minute to sign up!

**WARNING: SPOILERS FOR 5x21 AND 5x22. PROCEED AT YOUR OWN RISK.**

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Stand Alone  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** How Lisbon broke her wrist.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Notes:** Spoilers for 5x21 and 5x22. Written for the May 2013 Monthly Challenge on Paint It Red.

**Stand Alone**

Some things are impossible to escape.

Death.

Taxes.

Injuries on the job.

Well, the latter not so much for the vast majority of people, but for Teresa Lisbon that wasn't the case. A long time ago, she had lost count of the number of times she had personally been involved in shootouts, tackling suspects, and other dangerous scenarios. There was always an angry perpetrator who wanted revenge, or something that could be tripped over, or a gang member wielding a blunted instrument. Lisbon barely blinked an eye at this kind of things and in truth, she had even grown used to relatively recent trips to the Emergency Room.

Those trips had grown increasingly frequent since Patrick Jane had joined her team, however.

He was a magnet for trouble. If he hadn't pissed somebody off to the extent that he got a sharp punch on the nose, he had come up with some extraordinary stunt that led to him (or, more likely, another member of her team) receiving a minor injury of some variety or another. And then, they ended up having to receive medical treatment and thus, a visit to the hospital. Somehow, they always managed to explain away these incidents and none of her team seemed too bothered by the fact that, while the closed case record had reached stratospheric new heights, so had the number of injuries obtained by members of the unit. (Likewise had the number of attempted lawsuits and complaints lodged against the team, but that was another matter entirely.) But really, dealing with the fallout of Jane was just part of the course.

Lisbon herself had been on the receiving end of some of these accidents on occasion too. Most memorably was the time when Red John's mole, Agent Craig O'Laughlin had shot her before being killed by Agents Van Pelt and Hightower. She still hadn't quite forgiven him for that one. There were other times too, just small and insignificant things; cuts and bruises picked up while chasing down suspects, one incident of smoke inhalation and the time when she had been bitten by a dog he'd antagonized. All of these could be directly linked to her wayward consultant, and she always managed to rationalize it one way or another. So long as they got the perp in the end, she honestly didn't seem to care.

But this time, however, it hadn't been Jane's fault at all. Jane hadn't been in the vicinity of this latest incident that had left her requiring urgent medical treatment. In fact, Patrick Jane hadn't even been involved on the case at all, so she couldn't even trace this back to being one of his crazy plans or something which had happened as a direct result of said crazy plan.

She hadn't seen Jane for precisely four days and a small part of her missed him, in spite of herself. Lisbon knew exactly where Jane was. He was safely ensconced in his precious attic space, poring desperately over the Red John case. He'd made her promise not to interrupt him; he'd insisted that it was vital for him to make a breakthrough in the case, for him to be able to put together the pieces of the puzzle which he'd collected. And although she really didn't like the idea of agreeing to it – in reality, she wanted to help him - she had relented. Red John was his baby and she knew deep down that she would have ended up being far more of a hindrance than a help. So, she gave him the space and, true to her word, she hadn't interrupted him once. He was completely oblivious to her current woes and would remain as such until time was up.

But that was irrelevant; that wasn't why she had just been admitted into hospital, been rushed off for an emergency x-ray on her right wrist, been administered with a copious volume of painkillers or why she was now waiting to have her wrist set in plaster for the foreseeable future. She sighed; although a broken wrist wasn't going to stop her from doing her job for long, it was going to make things a hell of a lot more difficult. It hurt to even move the damn thing, how was she going to do paperwork, never mind pull her gun if she needed to? Lisbon knew that she would be able to find ways to work around it, but that didn't stop it from being incredibly frustrating.

What was worse was that it should never have happened in the first place. These accidents do happen, she told herself firmly as she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, but they shouldn't have happened to her.

It had all been a perfectly easy case. They hadn't needed Jane's assistance to close this one. In fact, she knew that Van Pelt was busy typing up the reports while Rigsby and Cho interrogated the perp as she sat in this stark white waiting room. Lisbon was glad that it was practically closed already and that her team had had the chance to prove that they didn't need Jane to close every single case that was passed onto the Serious Crimes Unit. It reminded her – and them – that they were competent agents who could do their job. Jane just sped up the process and made things a little bit easier, that was all.

But, even he wouldn't have seen this one coming. She had been the one chasing down the criminal, with Cho hot on her heels. She had been the one to tackle him to the ground and while doing so, Lisbon had fallen awkwardly on her wrist. Immediately, she had felt her bones shatter and the shooting pain run through her whole arm. As she remembered hearing the crunch of her bones, she shuddered slightly. At least the painkillers she had been given had taken the edge off of it. And at least the CBI offered excellent healthcare plans for its agents, something which Jane didn't qualify for.

Even so, it was stupid, but she still wished she had somebody keeping her company and offering her some proverbial tea and sympathy. Specifically, she wanted Jane's company. She always ended up facing this kind of thing alone. Lisbon understood why he wasn't there, and she reminded herself time and time again that he had extenuating circumstances. She didn't doubt that he was working tirelessly hard to try and solve one of the most complex cases that the CBI had ever had to deal with. And she knew he'd care that she'd been injured once he found out.

Even so, it would have been nice…


	5. Letting Go

**A/N: **This was meant to be a drabble. Clearly, I had far too much to say.

Thank you to: Jane Doe51, kathiann, Frogster, dancingthrough, Lalalupin, Lothiriel84 and MicroPickle3 for reviewing _Stand Alone_.

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Letting Go  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** K+  
**Summary:** AU. He had always known that sooner or later, it would come down to this.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Notes:** Written for the Paint It Red Forum Anniversary Countdown. Belated birthday fic for klcarr892

**Letting Go**

"I'm sorry, Mr. Jane, but there are only so many allowances we can make you."

Jane frowned petulantly at the petite brunette standing opposite him. He had always known that sooner or later, it would come down to this. The CBI had a reputation to uphold and he was threatening to destroy it with every single step that he took. Teresa Lisbon had her hands firmly planted on her hips as she glared him down. This was an expression that he was very much used to seeing on her face, but he suppressed the desire to sigh heavily and carried on gazing benignly at her.

Over the past three months, the Serious Crimes Unit's closed case record had reached stratospheric heights. Virgil Minelli had been exceptionally proud of Lisbon and her team for that significant improvement. However, said improvement had come at a cost and that cost was him.

He had watched as the mountain of formal complaints had built up on Lisbon's desk. Jane knew that he was responsible for the vast majority (and if not, all) of them, but he just hadn't been able to stop himself from causing chaos. It was what he did best; his wife had once nicknamed him 'The Oncoming Storm', albeit, with an affectionate tone of voice. Even now, many years after her death, the nickname still suited him down to the ground. Lisbon, however, preferred to refer to him as a 'pain in the ass', the 'thorn in her side' and – if she pronounced it with the right amount of venom – 'the consultant'. Besides, the way he closed cases was different to the strait-laced and professional company procedure that the CBI had. There had to be some allowances to be made. And if that was offended the rich father of a spoilt girl or getting a rich billionaire to punch him in the nose, then so be it. What did it matter so long as the case got closed?

However, apparently it did matter. It mattered a lot.

Because Jane was fairly certain that even in such a short space of time, Lisbon had lost count of the number of times she had been forced to apologize on his behalf. What made it all the more galling was the fact that he was never sorry in the first place. But the CBI as a whole had to show they cared because they didn't want to get embroiled in another lawsuit over something that was easily rectified with two simple words.

But Patrick Jane rarely said the words 'I'm sorry'. He had been taught to say it only when he truly meant it. Ergo, there was only one thing he was truly sorry for. He couldn't say those precious words to two of the three people who deserved to hear it the most. They were dead and buried, long gone and it was entirely his fault.

Jane would have done anything if it meant getting his precious wife and daughter back. But it was too late, like so many other things.

The third person who very much deserved to hear those words from him was standing right in front of him. And worse, he wasn't even bothering to listening to what she had to say. Instead, he had allowed himself to get trapped in his own mind by the demons that haunted him on a day to day basis.

"And I'm very sorry, but we are going to have to let you go," Lisbon eventually concluded with a hint of sadness in her tone.

"Excuse me?" he queried, though he understood exactly what she had just said.

"We are terminating your contract, Mr. Jane. The CBI simply cannot be held accountable for your actions any longer."

"Oh."

"But we – I – would like to thank you for your services over the past three months. I have…" she paused, obviously considering just how to phrase what she was thinking. "…learned a lot. Thank you."

"No, thank you," he replied and proffered a hand. Tentatively, she shook it. "And I'm sorry for the trouble I have caused you."

She nodded at his statement, and seemed to understand the genuine undertones that he had offered in them. Finally, he let out that sigh he had been holding and turned on his heels. First on the agenda was saying farewell to Cho, Rigsby and Van Pelt. Then, he had to leave and get on with his life.

And rid himself of the nightmares that haunted him every sleeping and waking moment. The only way he was going to do that was by disposing of the serial killer more commonly known as Red John.

But he would find a way. He had to.

xxx

There was a knock on his apartment door and Jane's lips curved into a small smile. He'd been waiting for this moment; he'd had everything prepared for hours. Obviously, there had been a delay of some sort, but he knew he'd be able to work out the reasons why shortly. But first, he rushed to the door and opened it.

When he saw Teresa Lisbon standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and pressed his lips firmly against hers. She responded eagerly to the kiss and he could tell that she had been desperate to see him again all afternoon. This afternoon had presented them with a very awkward situation to be in and he had felt guilty about it all day. However, there had been no other option. This was very much for the best – both for them and the CBI.

"Do you think they bought it?" she asked, her tone querulous.

"You played the part beautifully, my dear," he answered and kissed her again, this time more chastely. "But do you think you can continue to convince your team that I am really long gone?"

"Please," she replied, with a derisive wave of the hand. "Just because you can tell what I'm thinking by the way I quirk my lips or move a hand, it doesn't mean that everyone can."

"You're still a hopeless liar though."

"If you say so, Jane."

"Patrick, dear," he reminded her gently. "You're not my boss anymore."

Nobody could know that they were continuing to see one another now that his contact with the CBI had been terminated. It was especially important that nobody knew that their relationship had developed into something far more than platonic as well. Not only was it for their safety – Red John would absolutely not approve of them seeking comfort in one another's arms – but it also maintained Lisbon's sense of professionalism. She would have loathed people judging her based on the fact she had been seduced by her charismatic consultant. Maybe one day it would be safe enough to reveal their relationship to the wider world, but for now, it was better for them to hide it in the shadows.

Hand in hand, he led her through to the kitchen table, which he had laid beautifully for dinner. Candlelight danced around the room, illuminating her soft features and it reminded Jane just why he had always been unable to resist her. When he had joined the CBI, he had been determined not to betray the memory of his wife and fixated on the idea of revenge. He had been pleasantly surprised to discover that he had the capability of letting another woman into his heart and bed.

When it came to Red John, they were still at odds, however. Slowly, she was coming around to the idea of turning a blind eye when it came to the serial killer. Ultimately, that was why he had insisted that she fire him. The CBI couldn't know what he was doing. He refused to allow himself to drag the honorable institution down with him.

But he couldn't let go of Teresa Lisbon. She anchored him. She insisted upon supporting him in his quest. And she also still had the belief that she could change his mind when it came to bloody murder.

Maybe she would end up being more successful than he was. Maybe one day he would be able to decide that she was the far better option than a jail cell. She would be able to arrest Red John, have him tried in a court of law and placed on death row due to his crimes.

It would probably come down to who was more stubborn and tenacious between the pair of them.

(Sooner or later, he was going to have to decide which he wanted to say goodbye to: revenge or Teresa Lisbon.

And already, he was beginning to come to the conclusion that she would eventually wear him down. He would end up surrendering Red John to her trustworthy hands. When it came to the choice between life and death, he had to choose life. But even so, the thought of the blood of his wife and daughter's murderer on his hands still seemed all too tempting…)

"I brought the files," she said quietly, but he shook his head.

"Later," he answered back firmly.

Because, for now, he had to show her that he loved every single inch of her. It was his way of thanking her for everything she had done for him in such a short period of time.

It was the very least he could do.


	6. Flight of Fancy

**A/N:** With thanks to Guest, Lothiriel84, Water-please, livingandthriving, kathiann, Jane Doe51, and Lalalupin for reviewing _Letting Go._

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Flight of Fancy  
**Author:** tromana  
**Summary:** Even Patrick Jane is prone to a case of the green-eyed monster.  
**Characters/Pairings:** Jane/Lisbon  
**Warnings: (please mention if your fic contains spoilers)** none  
**Notes:** Written for the Paint It Red 2nd Forum Anniversary Countdown. Also a belated birthday present for Little-Firestar84.

**Flight of Fancy**

She wafted past him like a fragile butterfly on a gentle breeze. Jane smiled serenely as his heart rose in his chest and the warmth spread from the core of his body and to all of his extremities. For half a moment, he believed there was the distinct possibility that she was going to stop by him, gently touch him one way or another and then press her soft lips against his. It was a daydream he had always loved; it made even the darkest days feel that little bit brighter. It gave him the much-needed and much-craved for hope. Hope was something he needed just to survive these days.

And he loved her. Deeply. She was his walking contradiction. Teresa Lisbon may have been tiny and delicate, with soft features and a gentle smile, but she could be as tough as nails and as strong as an ox when she wanted to be_. 'She floats like a butterfly, but stings like a bee,'_ he mused quietly to himself. And of course, he wouldn't have had her any other way.

When she didn't even spare him a second glance, it felt like somebody had dumped a bucket of cold water right over his head. Jane's heart plummeted out of his chest and down into the very pits of his stomach, only adding to his discomfort at what he was seeing. She didn't have time for him and it always irked him whenever that happened. Unconsciously, he started scratching at his hands; clearly, it made his fingers itch as well.

Warily, he watched her as she walked behind, appreciating the view of her exceptionally well-formed behind. He knew that Cho and Van Pelt were watching him in turn, but they practically expected him to ogle at the boss. And besides, what was the good in keeping things like this a secret? Most gentlemen (and some less than savory characters too) were more than happy to admit to the fact that Teresa Lisbon was an exceptionally beautiful woman. Some things just needed to be admired and she was very much one of them.

His appreciation of her form quickly dissipated when he saw who she was heading towards and exactly what she was doing to him. The admittedly charismatic, but also incredibly smug Walter Mashburn was standing in front of her, grinning like the cat that caught the canary. And really, who could blame him? That was especially the case when Lisbon placed a firm hand on his should and pressed those beautifully soft lips against his cheek. Jane was usually exceptional when it came to keeping control of his emotions. However, seeing Lisbon - _his_ Lisbon - kiss another man with such obvious affection gave him a very strong case of the green-eyed monster.

"Walter. It's good to see you again," Lisbon said, and her voice was laced with affection that Jane wished she'd direct at him far more often than she already did.

"It's been too long," he admitted and kissed her in turn. "You look even lovelier than the last time I saw you."

Jane honestly couldn't believe the audacity of the man. Had he really come out with such awfully blatant flattery the last time he had seen the pair of them together? It was the kind of behavior that he knew Lisbon absolutely loathed, and yet, she seemed remarkably disaffected by it. Maybe it was mostly because of who was saying it. She liked and trusted Walter Mashburn. That was probably why she tolerated him saying that kind of thing to her. However, a not-so-small part of Jane was still secretly hoping that she was gritting her teeth and refusing to say anything just to be polite to the arrogant billionaire.

"Flatterer," Lisbon remarked and Jane felt relieved. She had seen straight through Mashburn's trite cliché and it was a good job too. "How was Australia?"

"Wonderful, absolutely wonderful. I could have had far better company, however."

Again, Jane loathed the insinuation. Walter Mashburn had had his chance, but Lisbon had already made it clear that she didn't want any more empty glamour. If she were to have a proper relationship, then she wanted something a bit more deep and meaningful. However, he was still circling, still trying, still on the scene. And briefly, Jane found himself questioning: what if? What if a small part of her still held a candle for him? What would happen then? Would she take the risk and dive right in there? Because, Walter Mashburn still had that dangerous streak she was so obviously drawn towards. But in comparison to certain people - or rather, a _very _specific person, namely, himself -he was still the safe option. He didn't chase down a homicidal maniac like his very life depended on it. Instead, he sought his thrills in other ways.

"That's enough," she replied, but she was smiling at the compliment. "I thought we had a lunch date planned?"

"Of course we do. Only the best for you, Teresa."

Jane rolled his eyes as they headed out of the bullpen and towards the elevator. He'd had more than enough of that view anyway. And besides, it was making him feel increasingly irritable. Perhaps he had misjudged the situation. It was obvious that Lisbon was still very fond of him - the main question was just how fond was she? He shook his head and decided to settle back down on his faithful couch. This was stressing him out; it was too much for one day. Later on, he would deal with this issue. This green-eyed monster, however, was still proving to be far more trouble than he expected. Because, even though he had the comfort of his couch and the security of the team surrounding him, he couldn't get a wink of sleep.

Damn Teresa Lisbon.

And damn Walter Mashburn even more.

xxx

He sat in bed with the light on, sulking. Jane had a book in front of him, but instead of paying any proper attention to it, he seemed to merely be reading the same sentence over and over again. Each time he heard a car roar past, he paused and craned to hear what else was going on outside. And each time, he was disappointed to hear that the vehicle was long gone.

Eventually, he heard the familiar click of a key in the door, and then it being shut quietly again. Even though he was solely focused on what was now happening in the house, he drew the book closer to his face, obscuring his vision of the bedroom door. After approximately five minutes, he heard the soft padding of footsteps coming up a staircase and then, the door creaked open. Teresa Lisbon cleared her voice and slowly, Jane placed the book down on the bedside table.

"You're home late," Jane remarked.

"Oh, you know Walter. A lunch date is never merely lunch with him."

"So it spread into dinner, and then what?"

"You're not honestly_ jealous_ of Walter Mashburn, are you?"

Lisbon looked momentarily stunned with his insinuation. Vaguely, he noted that she had already shed herself of her jacket and shirt while downstairs. They were probably dumped on top of the laundry, ready to be washed whenever her next non-work day fell. But that was irrelevant, because Patrick Jane still felt uncomfortable. Walter Mashburn had spent far too long with Lisbon for his liking and yes, he was going to make his feelings clear about it. She moved towards him, almost predatorily. At least she didn't appear to be furious with what he'd implied. But then, he'd never have said it at all if he couldn't trust that she would know what he meant by it.

"No," Jane replied hotly, albeit more than a little bit too quickly.

"Oh please, Jane," Lisbon scoffed.

"Patrick," he corrected her quickly, interrupting her as he did so.

"Patrick," she echoed, for once not telling him off for correcting her. "Walter and I are just _friends._ There's nothing going on between us."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really," she said with a decisive nod as she crawled up the bed, inching painfully closer to his face. Once she had his cheeks cupped in his hand, Jane could feel his heart beating out a military tattoo. He knew what was coming next. "Because, if I really loved Walter Mashburn, would I come back home – and to bed – with you?"

Before he even had a chance to answer, she kissed him fiercely. He loved the feel of her fingers raking through his blond curls and naturally, his hands migrated to her back. Jane held her in close, refusing to let her move an inch. Besides, it was not like she even appeared to have any intentions of leaving him behind anyway. Instead, she was very much focused on kissing him, and making sure it was passionate too, and as far as Jane was concerned, that was absolutely the way it should be. Finally, there appeared to be some justice in the world. When she pulled away briefly, he watched with eager eyes as she slowly, teasingly peeled the camisole off of her body and discarded it on the floor.

Yes, he decided. He'd let her have this one. She definitely did have a point.

And then, he realized, he couldn't leave her alone any longer. He had waited far, far too long for this. Instead, he pulled her back down for yet another fierce kiss, one that she was more than happy to give to him.

_Mashburn, who?_ he thought, somewhat triumphantly.


	7. Invisible Man

**A/N:** I've been ill. This took me far too long to write as a consequence.

Thanks to: Jane Doe51, MerriWyllow, Little-Firestar84 and Lothiriel84 for reviewing _Flight of Fancy_.

x tromana

* * *

******Title:** Invisible Man**  
****Author:** tromana**  
****Rating: **T******  
Summary:** Nothing felt tangible anymore.**  
****Characters/Pairings:** Jane**,** others**  
****Notes:** Written for SteeleSimz. A belated gift sure, only uh, six months late. But enjoy?**  
**

**Invisible Man**

Jane's hands skimmed across the metallic bars that marked the queue line for the tilt-a-whirl. Nobody else was here; the carnival was like a ghost town. In the past, Jane had never found the carnival eerie; it was a second home to him. In fact, one of his favorite times during his childhood had been when they had just finished setting up and were waiting for the customers – the marks – to arrive. The very feeling made him shiver with anticipation. But not this time; this time he felt unsettled by the set-up. However, he knew there was a first time for everything.

It didn't stop his keen eyes from searching out for other people, though. Money jangled in his left pocket and he knew he was here as a customer, not as a con-artist. His role had been reversed and that was something else he didn't feel entirely comfortable with. He had been brought up in this environment; he knew all of the tricks of the trade. And thus, he needed to see a familiar face – Pete, Sam, anyone. Briefly, he thought he saw people manning the booths for the various rides and attractions, but he had been mistaken. Instead, every individual he had known on the carnival circuit had been replaced by poor animatronics which made him cringe inside. Something about this was not right, and he had to figure out what was going on. Suddenly, he got an electric shock from the steel and jerked his hand away, glaring stubbornly at it.

By his own volition, he continued moving forwards, slowly plodding one foot after the other. He acted like a depressed man heading towards the bridge where he intended to end his life. In truth, that description wasn't entirely too far from the truth.

When he reached the ticket booth, the metallic voice croaked, _five dollars please._

Autonomously, Jane dug through his left pocket until he procured the appropriate change. A small part of him knew just how much of a rip-off it was, but regardless, he knew he was obliged to pay the fare. Casually, he tossed the money onto the counter, letting it jangle as it fell into place. When silence dawned upon them, a robotic hand swept them down before opening the gate to the tilt-a-whirl.

Jane didn't really have any specific urge to ride it, but it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. He knew and understood the predictability of tilt-a-whirls. This was where he had grown up; he even mimicked his memory palace on the carnival as a whole. But there was a reason he was here, so he knew that he might as well follow through with it. And besides, he also felt like he wasn't being given much of a choice anyway. So, he let his feet lead him to the cart, settled into place and waited for the ride to finally whirr into action.

Much to his surprise, Jane found that one other individual was riding with him. They were the first person that Jane had seen for what felt like a lifetime. Cloaked entirely in black and wearing a bright red mask to obscure his features, this man seemed a little odd. It didn't matter though; Jane was used to odd. In fact, Angela had often claimed that it was his stock and trade. He smiled weakly at the thought of his beloved wife and not for the first time, he wished she were by his side. There was something about her comforting presence which made just about any situation feel right. But she wasn't here; she was nowhere to be seen and he couldn't help but wonder why.

_Who are you?_ Jane asked as the track slowly began to move. He couldn't help it; he was intrigued.

He didn't receive an answer.

_What is this place?_ he tried again.

Although it was a distinctly similar setup to the carnival he had spent his youth traveling with, certain details didn't quite match up. Jane found it unnerving; it was like somebody had plucked a memory from the back of his mind and a changed a few key things specifically to unsettle him. It irked him even more so to know that it was actually working. He was the one who played the mind games; he hated it whenever the roles were reversed.

_Why am I back here?_ he queried, although he already knew that this mysterious figure was most certainly not in a talkative mood.

The ride began to spin faster and faster and Jane could feel nausea building up in his throat. He battled against the urge to vomit; years of honing his skills meant he had excellent control of his bodily functions. Jane had never been fond of the rides in carnivals. He always felt like they could fall apart in a heartbeat, or send some innocent mark plummeting to their death. Jane could even remember one occasion when a carnie had died during the construction of the ride he had served for all of his life. A steel track on a rollercoaster had fallen, striking him directly on the head because it hadn't been tightened correctly by a younger, more foolhardy member of the carnival. The poor man had never stood a chance.

The tilt-a-whirl meanwhile, was comparatively harmless to the risky rollercoaster. Vibrant colors spun around him, a haze of reds, blues, yellows and greens. But Jane didn't care for the kaleidoscopic colors; the world could have been drained to a haze of grey for all he cared. Some people would have believed them to be beautiful, but as far as he was concerned, there was nothing more beautiful than seeing the sunny smile on his wife's face after he had brought her a cup of tea in the morning. Meanwhile, others would have seen the bright haze as being enthralling, but Jane would always find watching the rise and fall his tiny daughter's chest as she slept peacefully all the more enthralling. So, instead of allowing himself to be mesmerized by the swirl of the ride and the clack-clack-clack of machinery working hard, he closed his eyes and blocked it all out. After all, it wasn't as if he were capable of getting a distraction elsewhere; his lone companion remained stubbornly mute.

When the ride ground to a halt and the safety bar raised over his head, Jane turned to bid farewell to the other man but he had already disappeared before they had the chance to exchange pleasantries. Shrugging his shoulders, he began to wander the carnival some more. He didn't have any choice in the matter. In reality, he was spending his time scouring the place for an exit, but everywhere he looked, there was none. Patrick Jane was well and truly a caged animal.

And naturally, he didn't like that one iota.

Eventually, he found himself headed for the Ferris wheel. It was a place which held fond memories for him; one where he had actually felt loved and wanted when spending time with his father. Alex Jane was notoriously famed for working a young Patrick Jane hard and then stealing all the profits from under his nose. Consequently, Jane had adapted and learned to fend for himself. He brought himself up, using all that he knew from his current predicament to guide himself into adulthood. It was hardly a surprise that he leant heavily on the skills his father had taught him; they were all he knew. It was a way to make money, make a living. Besides, he was actually good at it and beyond that, he found himself having fun.

And ultimately, that came down to the brief sojourns on the Ferris wheel.

Then, his father made a game out of the skills of observation. He praised Jane's quick wit and honed his craft. There, he actually behaved as a father would, he actually taught him. It was only when the ride was over that he began to use and abuse him once more.

Now drawn to the ride, Jane repeated the task of payment with the mechanical man and took his seat. When the ride started to creak into movement, he didn't face outwards at the rest of the carnival as he would have as a kid. Instead, he had an unerring sense that he wasn't alone. Jane turned to his left to see the figure shrouded in black was back again. The creepy red mask was once again, firmly in place. Jane's hands itched and he resisted the terrible urge to pull it off the face and reveal what was underneath. Instead, he folded his hands on his lap and stared out to the dead carnival scene before him.

And then, he sighed.

Whatever the hell was going on, it was going to be a long and arduous day.

_Are you a figment of my imagination? The anthropomorphic personification of Death? Am I dreaming? Hallucinating? Am I going insane? Are you ever going to answer one of my questions? What. Is. Your. Name?_

Each question was answered merely with stony silence. Jane quickly decided that even his father in his most violent state would have made a far better companion during this ride than the man in black. Jane scratched the back of his neck and then his arms. It felt hot and he could feel the sticky sweat on his fingers. Absentmindedly, he rubbed them down his pants. This was well and truly the longest Ferris wheel ride he had ever had to endure. To make matters worse, the sun was beating down on them and there was no shelter, no reprieve. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or a breath of wind in the air. He closed his eyes and slowly counted to ten. It wouldn't last forever; it would soon be over. Then, he could make his escape and try and leave this damn place. All he really wanted to do was get away from here. It hadn't been long – or had it? – and he had already had more than enough of revisiting old memories which weren't quite what they were supposed to be.

If Angela were here, then Jane was certain he would have been able to keep a firm grip on reality. Then, he would have been absolutely fine.

When he was released from the cage, he practically hit the ground running. He didn't spare a look for his masked companion-come-stalker, nor for the metallic figure standing in for real carnie folk. If it weren't for his refusal to believe in what he knew existed, then he would have thought that this was like some kind of other realm, like the merry old Land of Oz or Wonderland. Instead, he found himself desperately looking for answers to his mounting questions and finding absolutely none.

As he ran, he found himself streaking past the food court, but he didn't spare a thought for any of them. He wasn't hungry and he knew full well all the crap that went into a corn dog and how much hygiene went into the care of the equipment. It was enough to make any man's stomach churn with disgust. But, what a mark didn't know didn't hurt them and that was exactly why the carnies had managed to get away with so much. No respectable carnie folk would use equipment honed for marks on themselves; they knew too much. The most they would ever do was spend some time on the rides. Of course, the exception to the rule was the animals: they required constant care, attention and training in order to make them appear as spectacular as marks wanted them to.

And it was when he reached the animal quarters that he began to slow down. Finally, he felt like he had put enough distance between himself and whatever the heck he was running from.

But every footstep was beginning to feel heavier and heavier.

Every breath felt harder to draw.

It was when he was stood in front of the makeshift stables that he found he was barely able to move a muscle.

That was it; it was in this very spot where he had met his wife. He would never forget that moment, not for an instant. She had turned his whole life around, and for the better. She made him a better man, even if she didn't believe she did. But Jane well and truly understood the adage that 'old habits die hard' and besides, he only wanted to be able to buy the very best for her. It was what she deserved after the upbringing they had both had to endure. If that meant using less than honorable skills, then so be it.

He turned on his feet, and once again, there he was. His masked man.

_Who are you? _he tried once again, keeping it simple.

"I need to speak to Mr. Jane," a voice, female, short and abrupt, urged. "It is essential for the case."

The woman's voice sounded like it didn't belong here, certainly not in the carnival and maybe not in this world at all. Her words didn't even make much sense. Why did she want to talk to him and what did she mean by a 'case'? Had he crossed the law somehow? Was he under arrest for some crime he may or may not have committed? Maybe he was merely a witness to some misdemeanor and she wanted information. But he didn't know any of that, so Jane concentrated on the base facts he had before him. He couldn't place this woman's – presumably, some sort of officer of the law's - voice; he was convinced that they had never crossed paths before. He blinked the sweat out of his eyes. The masked figure was cocking his head ever so slightly to the left, teasing him again.

And once more, Jane's fingers felt like they were itching. If he removed that mask, then maybe he would be able to get at least one answer from this place.

_What is this-_

"…Red John…"

Unable to resist any longer, Jane took one step forwards and quickly ripped the mask away.

Underneath, the taunting smiley face of Red John was daubed onto a blank white canvas. Everything suddenly fit into place.

Charlotte, gone.

Angela, brutally murdered.

Because of him. Because he had crossed over a line. Because he had made an enemy of a deadly serial killer. And that serial killer wanted revenge. Thus, he had taken what was most dear to him: his family.

Jane let out a piercing scream.


	8. Domino

**A/N: **With thanks to ForsetiPurge, SteeleSimz, Cloudy Glass, Jane Doe51 and kathiann for reviewing Invisible Man

x tromana

* * *

**Title:** Domino  
**Author:** tromana  
**Rating:** T  
**Summary:** In the end, everything falls.  
**Characters:** Patrick Jane  
**Notes:** Written for the July 2013 Monthly Challenge. Dedicated to Toya.

**Domino**

Life is a strange thing.

An oddity.

A quirk.

It goes against nature, it fights against entropy.

It builds things up to break them down.

Essentially, it's wrong.

Patrick Jane knows this.

He's learned the hard way.

He always learns the hard way.

Or, so he thinks.

There was once a time when he was happy.

Jubilant.

Successful.

He had his dreams.

They came true.

His wife.

Angela.

Precious.

Beautiful.

Perfect.

Well, not perfect.

Just in his eyes, at least.

His daughter.

Charlotte.

Bright.

Wonderful.

Inspiring.

Innocent.

Dead.

It's his fault.

It's always his fault.

He knows what he did wrong.

He wishes he could change the past.

But that is just a dream.

Always just a dream.

It's one that cannot come true.

Ever.

He wishes it could.

But it won't.

No matter how hard he wishes.

No matter how hard he prays.

Unlike life, it's an impossibility.

Life is a parasite.

For him.

For the world.

It doesn't create.

It merely destroys.

Existence is futile.

Without his wife.

Without his daughter.

He's purposeless.

Like life itself.

He hurts.

Literally.

It's not worth living anymore.

He wants to die.

He sees Red.

Everywhere.

Walls.

Floor.

Sky.

People.

Life.

Tainted.

Stained.

Crimson.

Cinnabar.

Terracotta.

Maroon.

Claret.

Carmine.

Scarlet.

John.

He can't beat him.

He's the man who stole his dreams.

The nightmare in the shadows.

That's what dreams always turn into in the end.

Nightmares.

It's easier to give up.

And so, he does.

It's better that way.

He doesn't deserve to live.

He stole away two innocent people's hopes and dreams.

They come so slow and go so fast.

It makes his heart ache.

It makes his head ache.

It makes his everything ache.

That's the least he deserves.

He wanders.

Aimless.

Lost.

Finds himself at a bridge.

Water gushing underneath.

Water cleans.

Cleanses.

Absolves.

He can find peace there.

He jumps.

xxx

He wakes.

There is no afterlife.

He knows.

He always knows this.

Life is a freak of nature.

Not God.

There is no God.

This is real.

He's still alive.

Much to his chagrin.

He should be six feet under.

With Angela.

With Charlotte.

His life ended with theirs.

He's a lost soul.

Physically alive.

But dead inside.

Somebody stopped this.

Who?

He doesn't know.

He doesn't care.

He closes his eyes.

Wishes that sleep would just wash over him.

It doesn't.

Dreams are something that he doesn't deserve.

Once he'd gotten everything he wished for.

He's lost it.

He lived the charmed life.

Took it for granted.

It's gone now.

He lays awake.

But sees nothing.

Except a Red smiley face.

Red.

Red.

Red.

Made of Red blood cells.

Erythrocytes.

From arteries.

From veins.

From hearts.

Of people he loves.

Of people he loved.

Of people who should be alive.

When he should be dead.

This is a far more effective punishment than death.

He's alive when they should be.

He stands.

Finds a glass.

Foolishly left.

It's all he needs.

Knocks it over.

It breaks.

Smashes.

If it can shatter then so can he.

Shards.

He picks one up.

The biggest.

Stares at his arm.

Prominent veins.

Full of Red blood cells.

Erythrocytes.

Life.

He drags it along the vein.

Red blood pearls in the fine cut.

Draws it deeper.

It gushes out.

Everywhere.

He feels relief.

Joy.

Pain.

He deserves pain.

He deserves death.

He sees that Red smiley face again.

Taunting.

Leering.

Mocking.

There needs to be another.

He draws it.

Tentatively.

Carefully.

His hand shakes.

He's stopped.

_You don't need to do this._

_I do._

_It's not your fault._

_It is._

_Red John killed your family. _

_Not you._

_I..._

A light bulb flickers.

Light.

In an otherwise Red world.

He smiles.

There is a future.

A temporary one.

He has a new dream now.

Of Death.

Destruction.

Validation.

Revenge.

xxx

Patrick Jane gets better.

Or it appears that way, at least.

He reclaims his name.

His clothes.

His car.

His house.

He does his research.

Finds who he needs to speak to.

_Red John is mine._

They will understand.

They know murder.

They've killed themselves.

They've had to in their line of work.

They justify it.

Death is a way of life.

They accept it.

And move on.

They can accept him.

And his need.

For Death.

For revenge.

He drives to Sacramento.

To the CBI.

To a new life.

He has new dreams on the horizon.

He doesn't know it yet.

He will soon.

He arrives.

Parks.

Takes the elevator up to the third floor.

Wanders through the corridors.

The prefabricated offices.

Takes none of it in.

One task in mind.

Only one thing he needs.

He spots her.

Petite.

Brunette.

Green eyes.

Pale skin.

Fragile.

Beautiful.

Strong.

She holds the Red John case in the palms of her hands.

Figuratively speaking.

She's saved him once.

Already.

He can't remember.

He won't remember.

It's the only thing he doesn't know about his past.

He needs her.

Still.

For Red John.

She'll be important to him.

To his hope.

His dreams.

His future.

He just doesn't know it yet.


End file.
